


That Book

by Fallowsthorn



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Young Prince of Tyvia, and i didn't want to disappoint anyone, characters list is lacking but everyone else only has cameos, i wrote this five years ago please keep that in mind, in-universe porn as character study?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2019-10-28 21:52:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17795399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallowsthorn/pseuds/Fallowsthorn
Summary: There's a (probably illegal) copy ofThe Young Prince of Tyviain the bathroom at the Hound Pits Pub.





	That Book

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the tags, I wrote this five years ago, for a prompt on the Dishonored kink meme, and only just discovered I'd bookmarked it and hadn't archived it. So here, have a little gift from past!me while I work on... well currently, existential Warframe porn, but who knows what'll end up finished first. It has its flaws, but I'm fond enough of it to keep it around. I need to remember that continuity with my past self isn't necessarily a bad thing. Nor is self-indulgent smut, which is all this is, really.

It was a week to the day after they'd closed the pub that Lydia found the books next to the toilet.

She'd been cleaning, and honestly, she didn't find them all that interesting. So somebody took long dumps and got bored, whatever. But as she picked them up off the floor to run the mop where they used to be, one of them caught her eye.

_The Young Prince of Tyvia._

Huh. That didn't seem like the title of some textbook.

Lydia braced the mop against her hip and flipped open the book. It turned out to be a script for a play that must have been popular a while - oh. _Oh._

Lydia kept turning pages, becoming ever more sure that no matter how popular this play might be, it had certainly never been on any Dunwallian stage under the Overseers' watch.

No, it was much too interesting for that.

She finished cleaning quickly and grabbed the book on her way out. She and Cecelia spent a few days giggling over it like schoolgirls before they tired of the taboo entertainment and Lydia tossed it back on the shelf in the bathroom the next time she and her mop went in there. Still, it had given them cause to smile, and that was something there was precious little of, nowadays.

* * *

Wallace eyed the book, then the room he was in. After checking warily to see if anyone was watching, he nudged it away with his shoe before grabbing the book underneath it.

He'd seen part of the play before, and had no desire to touch the damned thing, no matter how free of... substances it looked.

* * *

Admiral Havelock picked the book up, curious. He didn't know who was stocking a veritable library in the head, but they came up with some pretty interesting stuff sometimes. He doubted he would ever know where the complete volumes of _A Gaffer's Tale_ came from or went, but he knew that the first two had "accidentally" ended up in his own room instead.

This one, however, was... was....

Actually, Havelock was a bit hard-pressed to come up with a descriptor that was both accurate and concise. It was a play, that much he knew. He would have called it bawdy, and it certainly seemed like something one might see at the Golden Cat, but there was at least a veneer of sophistication to it, threads of quality writing where Havelock least expected it. It was sacrilegious, but not in a winking, nudging sense of, "And then, you see, right?" It was almost beyond that, shocking the reader - well, viewer, Havelock supposed - so profoundly with such blatant acts that they almost had no choice but to continue to its conclusion.

But what disturbed Havelock the most was that he enjoyed it, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Part of it was that a sexual situation was involved, yes, but it wasn't really anything he hadn't seen after ninety days at sea. Part of it was that like anybody else, he liked a good story, but to be blunt about it, there wasn't much in there that counted as "story".

Failing to puzzle it out after thirty seconds, Havelock sighed and put the book back on the shelf, turning to wash his hands. _The Young Prince of Tyvia_ wouldn't go away anytime soon, not if Havelock's guess about who put it there was right. He had time to return and figure it out then.

* * *

Trevor Pendleton hummed softly, shifting the weight of the books to one hand as he opened the bathroom door with the other. He hadn't entirely meant to be bringing books in here on a regular basis; it was simply something that happened, and after a few of them had gone missing he'd realized that the others were appreciating them as well. Now he made sure to bring a variety, and most of them made it back to him after a while.

There was one that he was becoming attached to already, though, and that was _The Young Prince of Tyvia_. He'd seen the play performed as a comedy piece at the Golden Cat, with two courtesans in place of Lord Nathan and the Prince. It had worked well enough, but there were points where some of the lines, even said with a sly wink and a peep of uncovered flesh to the audience, still felt flat with the emotion that they were lacking. He wanted to read the play in its entirety, uninterrupted, and see what was really going on behind the terrible acting of the uncouth courtesans.

With a slight smile, Pendleton set the stack of books down, locked the bathroom door behind him, and picked up the book on top.

* * *

Corvo cocked his head to the side as he rifled through the books, absently pocketing some change that someone had left near the sink. He didn't read through any of them, though, just skimmed enough of each to get the gist of it before put it back where he'd found it.

When he found _The Young Prince of Tyvia,_ he blushed faintly, but soon the thought came that _Jessamine would have found this hilarious, and her guards' reactions even more so._

Corvo walked outside before he could encounter anyone else, and spent a quiet hour watching the river.

* * *

Samuel pondered the book, turning it over and around as though that would make it reveal its secrets. When nothing happened, he turned back to the page he had dog-earred, and tried to figure out what was wrong.

It took three re-reads before he got it. It was technical, but if just _that_ was changed... and _this_....

Samuel nodded to himself, and filed that little fantasy away for a lonely night some time in the future.

* * *

"Hey, Callista? What's this?" Emily asked, waving around a book as she walked back downstairs. "I found it in the bathroom."

Callista turned, not expecting this line of inquiry, and twisted her head until she could see the title. "Ah," she said, sounding faintly strangled.

Emily frowned. "Are you okay, Miss Callista? You look funny. I brought it down because there are a lot of words I don't know in it."

Callista firmly stomped on her reaction and resolved to deal with it later. "It's a grown-up book on... ah... geography. And Tyvia. That's why there are so many confusing words; they're all Tyvian, not proper words like from here. Best give it to me, and I'll put it back."

Emily sullenly handed over the book, looking half-convinced that this was some plot by Callista to make life even more boring. And honestly, it was.

"Fine. But when I'm Empress, I'll have to talk to Tyvian people, so I should know what those words mean, right? Right? Miss Callista, why are you blushing so much? Is Tyvia that embarrassing? Oooooh...."

Callista was doomed.

* * *

Piero had to confess that out of the few things he'd grabbed before taking shelter from the Watch with Sokolov, there was one item that was purely selfish. The book lay innocently on the table, subject every so often to Piero's glares but otherwise not doing much. Maybe he could invent something that would translate the force of a glare into an actual incendiary?

"Are you trying to give me a hint?" Sokolov said brusquely, interrupting Piero's train of thought. It was the first the older man had said to him since Piero had unlocked the cage door and gestured for him to follow quickly and silently.

Piero looked at Sokolov, then realized what the other philosopher was alluding to, and glanced quickly between him and the book before shaking his head. "Ah - no. I simply... It has no value, other than the sentimental, and it's less than useless in getting us out of here. I still don't quite know why I wasted time finding it and taking it with me."

Sokolov shrugged. "Humans dislike change. I suspect you wanted at least a remnant of your safe life, before Corvo."

Piero barked out a laugh; he couldn't help it. At Sokolov's strange look, he finally wandered over and took a seat on one of his worktables. "Before Corvo. Before Corvo what? Was born? 'Killed' the Empress? Lived here? Was poisoned? 'Killed' the Empress again? Before he inevitably comes back from the dead to make our lives infinitely more difficult? I suppose any of those are valid, although I'm not that much older than him to be honest. But if you mean that life was preferable before Corvo came to live at the Hound Pits Pub, as opposed to after - no. It was... safer, certainly, less exciting. Less filled with gunfire."

As if on cue, a barrage of missiles struck the reinforced door. Sokolov jumped, then muttered a curse. Piero waited for the noise to abate before continuing.

"But I don't miss that. What would there be to miss? Hiding in a lab wracked with fevers and dreams of inventions that could never function, and suddenly knowing the schematics, as though my thoughts were not my own? Hoarding my remedy here at the Pub, the only one to drink it or likely even know of its existence? No, it's life after Corvo that I miss. Because I _mattered._ " Piero leaned forward, eyes alight. "Every time I walked past a wanted poster, I would see that mask and think, 'I did that.' Not as obviously as putting it on myself and leaping about on rooftops - but I made that, and many other things. I helped Corvo, and through him, I helped topple a regime."

"And give rise to a new one," Sokolov pointed out, but his voice had lost the harsh tone it had held before.

Piero waved that away as inconsequential, though he did acknowledge that was a tad cavalier given that the new regime was trying to destroy the workshop around them. "But don't you see? On my own I could never cure the plague. Nor could you. Prevent it, yes, but not cure it. On his own, Corvo would have died soon after Coldridge. On our own neither of us could make it out of here alive. But working together...."

Sokolov stood straighter as it dawned on him what Piero was getting at. "We could matter." There was a brief silence before Sokolov walked over to Piero and began to clear off a workspace. "I know there is bad blood between us, past wrongs whether real or perceived. On either side," he added, to stop Piero's protests. "But that can wait. For now, let us see what we can come up with."

* * *

It was late, and Teague Martin's back ached from the stocks and from the sneaking he'd had to do to reach the Hound Pits Pub undetected. Still, even though it was much too late - or possibly early - for any sane person to be up, one of the servants waited for him with a hot bowl of soup and some bread. He took it from her, thanked her, and ate quickly, relishing the chance to sit down but impatient to get upstairs and into bed.

He walked up the stairs quietly, poking around a bit until he found the bathroom. He flicked on the lamp and relieved himself, then glanced around the room.

Huh. A stack of books. Most of them sounded, frankly, somewhat hum-drum, but there was one that was completely unfamiliar: _The Young Prince of Tyvia_.

Martin picked it up curiously. Well, everything started at its beginning, and that was just what he should do. He balanced the book on the sink corner, noting with some amusement that it had been read so much that the cover easily stayed open on its own; the binding had come somewhat loose.

As he read on, though, he discovered exactly _why_ this book was so, er... well-loved. It was blasphemy of the worst sort, shameless and degrading and, and, he'd already said shameless, hadn't he? It was the sort of thing that needed to be said twice, because if there was one thing _The Young Prince_ didn't have, it was shame.

Martin, by contrast, felt a deep blush rising his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and then with heartfelt horror realized that the blush wasn't the only thing rising. Of course, that made him blush all the more, and he quickly double-checked that the door was locked before squeezing his eyes shut and curling his hands into fists.

It was just a book. Just words on a page, that was all. Small and frail. They might be the Outsider's work, but they could be defeated easily. Recite the Strictures, and feel yourself be purified against the profanities of the Outsider.

And yet, there was a traitorous part of him that could not stop thinking about Tyvian skin, warm and rich as though with gold like Tyvia itself, of the curve of noble-soft fingers across a broad shoulder, down a strong spine to - and the way two sets of hips could -

"Strictures," Martin muttered to himself, softly so that only he could hear, kneeling down so that he wouldn't fall. The words came back as nothing else would right now, learned so long ago that the sound of them was in his bones, in his blood, almost not needing to be on his tongue. But if they hadn't needed to be spoken aloud, then he wouldn't be so - "Restrict the Wanton Flesh. Truly, there is no quicker means by which a - a life can be upheaved and sifted than-" Martin groaned, cutting himself off. If he looked down, he could see his erection, his sin against the Strictures; if he looked up his traitorous thoughts wanted to him to feel pale fingers in his hair, tilting his head back with some mockery of - of love, but it couldn't be; if he shut his eyes, a Tyvian prince laughed at him over the back of a nobleman before fairly screaming in pleasure -

Martin shuddered and moaned and forced his eyes open and down. It felt wonderful, to his torment and humiliation. He, or at least some part of him, wanted this - this path to the Void. His breath came in hard pants, and he rushed through the Stricture of the Errant Mind as fast as he could. It didn't help.

Think of something disgusting. Think of a weeper!

That at least got his mind off of Tyvian royalty for the time being, but the book was still lying open on the counter and Martin knew as surely as he knew his Strictures that if he started reading it again he wouldn't stop. Better he endure this unnatural lust until it subsided than give in to it completely.

Martin wet his lips unconsciously, then gasped; the action brought a lingering sensitivity to his mouth, as though he'd been kissed, or.... He raised his fingers to touch them, half-certain there was something there, and a tension in his shoulders left his as he unclenched his hands. He shook, as though fighting it, and his hips jerked forward once before he caught himself. The hand which had been touching his lips now attempted to stop noise from his mouth; the other was in his lap, inches from his cock.

He made a frustrated noise that might have been louder were he truly alone, and drew in an unsteady breath. "...th-than by the... the depredations offfffuck...."

Teague Martin gave in. He braced one hand on the wall in front of him and curled the other around his heated cock, feeling the immediate spike in carnal pleasure even through his shame of failure. Even though there was no hope of going back from this, he kept speaking the Stricture, as though condemning the act might somehow negate the performance of it.

"...of unc-controlled desire.... What avail is the concourse of a prostitute?" Or a Tyvian? Or any male? "The attention... of a loose companion?" Martin tilted his head back, letting himself breathe though his mouth in quick jerks, matching them with his own harsh pulls. "N... Nothing.... And what is the fuc- fruit of s-" The consonant became a low hiss as he felt himself getting closer to release. "-of such a - of such... unions? Only sorrow - is born, o-only misery is multipled-"

Martin came, spreading white across his hand, turning his head to the side so that he whimpered into his arm rather than cry out to the ceiling in pure. Damned. Lust.

It took him a few moments to pull himself together enough to finish the Stricture under his breath. "Within these things, the Outsider dwells."

Martin cleaned up quickly, scrubbing his hands raw and tossing the thrice-forsaken book in the darkest corner of the room where it belonged. He went to sleep feeling dirty, useless, and a failure, not because he'd failed in the worst way to follow the Strictures - but because he wanted to do it again.

* * *

Havelock had begun to notice Martin's odd trips somewhere in the late hours of the night. It wasn't that he was spying on him or anything, but every so often, he would hear footsteps head past his room down the hall, and after twenty minutes or so, they'd go back the other way. Occasionally, he could hear faint murmurings as well, and could only assume that Martin, like he, had found a certain book worth further examination.

He would have let it go, but it was starting to get more frequent, and it was making Martin noticeably more restless and frazzled at a time when they needed him at his best. So the next time Havelock was awoken by someone attempting to be sneaky, he waited five minutes, then got up and walked down to the bathroom.

The door wasn't locked, since Martin clearly didn't think that anyone else was awake at this hour. Which, to be fair, they weren't. It swung open easily, revealing Martin leaning against the sink, still fully clothed but with _The Young Prince of Tyvia_ open in front of him. He was staring at Havelock, and probably didn't realize how desperately mortified he looked.

Havelock shut the door behind him quietly. "Do you want to tell me, or do you want me to guess until I get it right?"

"Er... what are you doing?" Martin asked.

Havelock sighed. "I don't care if you having some kind of life-changing emotional turmoil. As the leader of this conspiracy, you're an adult and as long as you can deal with it on your own, good. As your friend... and as someone who's concerned about your wellbeing... and as the leader seeing our strategist miss obvious information because he's tired and stressed even more than the rest of us... I'd like to know what's going on."

Martin sighed as well, and held the book out, as though offering it to Havelock. "I can't get this book out of my head."

Havelock raised an eyebrow. "And? Deal with it quietly like the rest of us do."

"And!? What do you mean, 'and'? It's wrong to - wait, 'the rest of us'?"

Havelock snorted and moved over, leaning against the wall opposite from Martin. "What, did you think it just appeared out of thin air one day? Quality entertainment is hard to come by here, if you haven't noticed."

Martin swallowed. "So you...?" he croaked, and made a vague gesture.

"When I like, yes. So long as nobody's doing anything they don't want to, I don't see anything wrong with it."

" _Wrong_ with it? It's against the Strictures! The whole idea is one big invitation to the Outsider! It's a perversion of nature for one thing, it's _illegal_ for another, and _I want it_." Martin bit his lip and looked away, half-curling inwards as well as though it would undo his confession.

"Ah," Havelock said, understanding fully what was going on. The last one of those wrongs, he suspected, was the worst. Short of at least ten years at sea and another six months on the other side of the law, Havelock wasn't quite sure what to do to convince Martin that he needn't worry, except maybe bed him and make him realize it, and that wasn't likely to go over all that well.

Although... hmm. Well, the worst that could happen is that Martin wouldn't play along, Havelock would leave, and there'd be a little awkwardness at breakfast tomorrow.

Havelock straightened, smiled, and reached out. "No need for anger between us. Is it so wrong for me to be here? As I've proven, I've developed an affinity for you...." Havelock touched the taut tendon in Martin's neck, below the ear facing him. The lines felt strange in his mouth; if Martin didn't do anything, he was going to feel incredibly stupid.

For a moment he thought that was going to be the case; then Martin let out a strangled breath and a shudder ran all the way up his spine as he relaxed - well, mostly. "Oh, my-" Martin breathed, and he sounded just as silly as Havelock felt, but that breathy tone was all Havelock really heard. "...your skin is so warm - it burns...."

It took Havelock a stunned moment to recall the next line. "Ah.... It is not too hot, I hope, though I have heard many wonderful things about the effect of heat on... certain parts of the male anatomy."

"Oh, you have?" Martin said, about an octave or three higher than he'd probably meant to. Havelock tried not to laugh as Martin cleared his throat and corrected himself. "I've... yes, I've heard that a hot towel can help strained muscles," he said, then gasped again as Havelock came closer and brushed his thumb against Martin's lips.

Havelock was supposed to laugh, but he though it would be too loud; instead, he hummed quietly. "Not quite that sort of anatomy, m'lord." He could feel Martin's heartbeat against his palm.

The Overseer was breathing as though he'd just run a race. "I - can't imagine what you might mean."

"Why don't you..." Not like there was room to lie down. "...sit up there, then, and I'll show you. But first...." Havelock stepped closer to Martin, until they could feel each other's breath. The script called for them to kiss, but Havelock wasn't sure if Martin would-

Martin's lips crashed into his, scared and forceful and if he once knew how to kiss, he'd clearly forgotten in the heat of the moment. Havelock gently corrected them, letting Martin get comfortable before breaking the kiss. Martin rested his head on Havelock's shoulder. "This is silly," he said.

"Which part?" asked Havelock in amusement. "The bad writing, or how terrible we both are at acting?"

Martin snorted out a laugh. "Both. I... I'm sorry, Havelock. Thank you for trying to help me, but...."

Havelock pulled back to look Martin straight in the face. "Are you sure?"

Martin straightened, then slumped back against the sink, looking down dejectedly. "I don't know. Everything I have now tells me not to go against the Laws of the Abbey and the Seven Strictures. Look where I was before them! You can't say I'm not better off now. But... but... but. But I want to, so badly it hurts. But I don't know why this didn't come up before, why it never bothered me, why I never thought about it. But I don't know what this means."

Havelock held his chin in one hand, propping it up on the other arm. "Are you planning on having children?"

"What?"

Havelock waved his hand. "Just go with this for a minute. Are you?"

"Well, not as High Overseer... I won't be permitted to have them."

"So that's out. Are you suddenly wanting to rob everyone blind and murder people for shits and giggles?"

"...No. Farley, there had better be a point to this."

"Do you trust me?"

Martin looked straight at Havelock, and after a heavy silence, asked softly, "With what?"

That stung, Havelock would admit, but this was about helping Martin, not assuaging his own ego. "With your secrets."

"Then yes," Martin said.

Havelock shrugged and put a hand on Martin's shoulder. "Then it sounds like you aren't throwing the baby out with the bathwater, and honestly, you might be dead tomorrow, from Burrows's men or plague or falling down the stairs. I don't see any harm in getting acquainted with this side of yourself while you're at Hound Pits. And then if you like, after everything's back to normal you can just forget all about it."

Martin stared at the hand on his shoulder as though it were an alien being. "It can't be that easy. Nothing's that easy."

"Yes, it can," Havelock said gently. "Some things are, when we're lucky."

Martin closed his eyes. Havelock could see his irises flicking back and forth below his eyelids. "I should be disgusted by this," Martin murmured. "This is a temptation of the Outsider, and I should-"

"To the Void with the Outsider," Havelock snapped, finally losing what patience he had at three in the morning or whatever fucking time it was. "This is a temptation by me, and it'd be nice if you decided whether or not you're going to take me up on it, because if you wait for much longer I'm going to go back to bed regardless of whether you're going to be in it with me."

Martin gaped at him, then began to laugh. "Oh - oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't - I know you mean it, I just - you never hear about temptations leaving because they got - bored!" He buried his face in Havelock's shoulder, trying to keep quiet and not wake the others up with his laughter.

On Havelock's side of things, this put him close enough to Martin to notice that the other man was still hard. And so, to a lesser degree, was Havelock.

He shifted so that Martin was pinned between the sink and Havelock's leg, and pressed in slowly so that his hips ground against's Martin's. He was rewarded when a trailing laugh become a deep, almost relieved groan of pleasure.

"Okay," Martin said, when he could talk. "Okay. It's too early to be guilty right now." He grinned briefly at Havelock. "Hmm. I think... I knew I shouldn't keep looking at - that book-" He gestured briefly to where it had fallen on the floor. "-but I felt a little less - wrong - weird - every time I did."

"Makes sense," Havelock said, not really caring anymore. "Do you remember how that scene ends?"

"Of course I do, it's the first one in the book," Martin said dryly, then caught on as Havelock reached for his waistband to undo the button there. "Oh. I - oh." Havelock paused to see if Martin would pull away; instead, the Overseer moved forward, pressing his lips to Havelock's and trying to fumble at, it seemed, both of their garments at once.

Havelock helped him, and once Martin stood half-naked he turned the younger man around so he was facing the sink, back to Havelock's chest. "I'm going to get you off, and I want you to enjoy it," he said.

Martin let out a somewhat nervous laugh. "I think you've accurately summed up at least half the lines in that - _oh_." He fell silent as Havelock pressed his lips to the back of his neck and took Martin's cock in his hand, the other one reaching across his chest to hold him steady. He was slow and loose as he ran his hand along the length, not quite sure how nervous Martin still was.

He got his answer when Martin bucked his hips forward, eliciting gasps from both of them. Havelock could feel the tremors running through the other man's body, and kept his slow rhythm up as he spoke. "It's all right... you want this, right?"

Martin bowed his head. "Yes," he said thickly. "I shouldn't. I shouldn't. Yes." He gasped again and shifted; Havelock guessed he was trying not to pull away, or something.

"Fine. Well, if you won't forget all that bullshit I'll make you," Havelock muttered, and withdrew his hand to spit in it. Oil was better, and elixir would do in a pinch, but he had neither on him at the moment. Lubricant applied, he shifted so that Martin's weight was braced against him, and he could use his other hand to trace along Martin's upper body, and find sweet spots that made him moan and writhe against the hand on his cock.

Havelock wasn't sure how Martin was doing on the whole forgetting notion, but he knew that he was well on his way, with Martin's ass and hip pressed against his groin. Every time he moved, Havelock's breath got a little quicker, and more than once he had to press his open mouth to Martin's shoulder to stifle a moan.

He hadn't done this in far too long, and he could only imagine what Martin was thinking, though judging by the way he was gripping the sink, it wasn't about the Strictures.

Through gritted teeth, Martin said desperately, "Farley - please - please-" and that was all the warning Havelock got before Martin snapped his hips forward and came, biting down on his hand to keep quiet.

Havelock said nothing as they stood there, Martin getting his breath back and Havelock still uncomfortably hard. After a minute or two, Martin looked at Havelock in the mirror. "You're... ah.... I mean, thank you." He opened his mouth again, then closed it and shook his head. "But you're still... aren't you?"

Havelock smiled easily and moved away to stand beside Martin. "Yes. You have no idea the picture you made with your eyes closed, desperate and horny." Martin blushed, embarrassed, but Havelock paid no mind. "I can take care of it with or without you, whichever you like."

Martin gaped at him, and worked his mouth a few times before saying, "I - I'd like to watch." He seemed almost surprised that he'd said it, as though he'd meant to say something totally different.

But he didn't correct himself, so Havelock began undoing the buttons at his waist, then spread his legs as wide as his dropped pants would let him. He watched Martin in the mirror as he spat in his hand and took hold of his cock, arching his spine at the relief and pleasure it brought.

Martin's eyes were wide as Havelock pushed his hips up against the sink, groaning softly. He could usually get himself off through just feeling alone, as stress relief or the consequence of too much wine at dinner. Now, his thoughts were drawn again and again to Martin's long fingers, elegant and uncalloused, tracing their way across the scars on Havelock's back, along ribs that had once pushed up the skin of his sides, down to his hip and forward.

Havelock realized he'd closed his eyes and opened them to see Martin reaching forward tentatively. He looked over at the younger man, who flushed and stopped moving, hand hovering between them.

"Go ahead," Havelock told him. "I'm not going to complain." He let go of his own cock with some effort, very aware of how close he was. Still, it wasn't as though-

Martin touched him, and he suddenly realized just how much he'd missed the feel of another hand on his cock. Of another _anything_ on his cock. He forced himself to stay mostly still for Martin's benefit, but he couldn't stop himself from groaning out something affirmative and not particularly coherent. Martin stepped closer to kiss him, or maybe to keep him quiet, and Havelock came with a moan, Martin's hand on his cock and Martin's mouth against his.

He felt relaxed as he came down from his high, something between his shoulder blades loosening. As he began to clean up, Martin inspected his hand, spattered white on his fingers. "That was... interesting," he murmured. Havelock looked up from getting his pants in order, but Martin didn't seem to be talking to him.

"Will you be coming with me?" Havelock asked.

"I think I just did," Martin mused absently, and apparently only realized what he'd said when Havelock snorted, lips twitching. "Oh! You mean... back to your room. Right. Ah. I... no. I need to think about..." He gestured, possibly at the entire room.

Havelock nodded. "All right. You should clean up. I'll see you in the - well, later today, I guess."

Martin nodded back as Havelock left. He washed his hands and retrieved his pants in something of a daze, not sure what this meant about him or what he should do. Sleep. He should sleep, and hopefully the answer would be clear in the - it was morning, wasn't it? When he woke next.

Just before he flicked off the light and left, Martin stooped to pick up _The Young Prince of Tyvia_ and put it back in one of the top shelves. For good or ill, it had changed how he thought of himself, and he couldn't hide that in a dark corner any more.

* * *

When the dust had settled and the executioner's axe fell, the Outsider stood before a book in an empty, forsaken building, the sky and ground blue as whale's blood. He picked up the book and regarded it. Such a simple thing. Trees felled to make the leaves, a sheep drained of blood and meat and boiled for the cover.

"You have so many stories in you," he said to it, and smiled. "Come, then, and tell them to me."


End file.
